


Radio, Radio

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: A Sexy Vacation, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Joyce Gets a Vacation, PWP, Shameless Smut, Will and Jonathan are the best sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:57:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Will and Jonathan submit an winning essay to a local radio station. Joyce gets a much needed vacation, and Jim tends to her other needs. PWP in two parts.





	1. Radio is a sound salvation

**Author's Note:**

> Taking another break from "Woolworth's Audrey Hepburn" to bring you a two part piece of smut and fluff that I have been cooking up for a while. The title is a reference to an Elvis Costello song of the same name. None of the characters that you recognize belong to me, they are the property of the Duffer Brothers. Evangeline Marks burst out, fully formed, from my forehead like the Athena of Radio Deejays.

Radio, Radio

Hawkins, Indiana 1984

            _This is 95.5 WIZX, Radio Hawkins, Hawkins, Indiana’s only station for easy listening. It’s 10 am on a Friday, and I’m your host, Evageline Marks, here to kick off an hour block of good feelings, and beautiful harmonies…_

            Joyce found herself dozing off at the sound of her former babysitter’s medicinally mellifluous tones as she stood at her register at The General Store. 95.5 was definitely not her favorite station, but Donald refused to put on anything that the older clientele would consider shocking, and Evangeline had been his son and daughter’s babysitter. It was supportive, and considering Evangeline had been a career babysitter in Hawkins until she married a rich older man from the city and was able to live her dreams of obscure radio celebrity, most of the listeners tuned in out of nostalgia for her gentle - if not slightly eccentric- ways. She also gave back to the community with contests and prizes Joyce knew mostly came out of her own pocket. They had gotten more lavish, now that Old Vic was dead.

            Joyce sometimes wondered what sort of music she preferred. It was hard to have dislikes when she was raising two boys. Her music exposure was either listening so easy it could be a kindergartener’s homework, Jonathan’s collection of punk rock, or Will’s fledging, half-formed tastes in Top 40 and whatever Jonathan liked. She supposed Elvis Costello was as close as what she would get to having a genuine favorite that she could tolerate for long periods of time. Tom Waits was okay, too… but only “Heart of Saturday Night”. His other albums were just a little too weird for Joyce.

            The Friday morning crowd began to pour in, so Joyce tuned out from listening to the radio and tuned in to the task at hand. It was the Friday before Super bowl Sunday, and Joyce was fortifying herself for the insanity that was sure to commence. She had already signed up for doubles the entire weekend, including that Sunday. Joyce was not terribly invested in Football, and with her marriage long gone, she did not have to pretend she did, or play hostess to a pack of drunk men.

            _That was Skeeter Davis’s classic hit “The End of the World”, and that concludes our hour-long block this Friday morning. If you are just tuning in this is Evangeline Marks, and it is just about time to announce the winner of Radio Hawkins Mother of the Year contest. As you know, about a month ago I asked listeners to write essays about their mothers, and why these women were special to them. This was in response to the outpouring of sympathy I received after the passing of my own wonderful mother, Sookie Mumford-Benning. I was so touched by these essays, each and every one, and after much soul searching, I was able to narrow the list down and present to you, a winner…_

“Hey, Joyce.” Joyce looked up and managed a nervous smile at Chief Jim Hopper. He set down two twelve packs of Schlitz, a bottle of Jack Daniels, a variety of frozen dinners, and a bag of potato chips onto the conveyer belt.

“Having people over for the game, Hop?” Joyce inquired weakly.

“Nope.”

 An awkward pall had settled over the two of them recently. Not because of what had occurred in The Upside Down, and their unlikely partnership in the quest to save Will – if anything, that adventure had forced a new closeness between the both of them. A thaw after an ice-age that had started back in High School when Joyce had ended their romance to pursue the older and more dangerous Lonnie.

            The two of them were shifting on uneasy footing because of what had occurred the weekend before:

* * *

 

The boys had been off with friends – Jonathan was making friends! Some of them, girls! – And Joyce had fallen into one of her crisis modes. She was getting old. She had been one of the smartest girls in her class, but she had thrown it all away for Lonnie. Most of her life revolved around raising two young men who were going to leave her some day and then she would have nothing. She had not had sex in years. Despite the fact that going out in public stressed her out beyond belief – she could not deal with running into Lonnie’s friends and getting the ‘It’s All Her Fault’ glances – she decided to go out to Hammond’s Place, the pub owned by the late Benny Hammond’s brother, Peter. The Hammond’s had always been kind to Joyce, and unlike most people in Hawkins, neither brothers had much love for Lonnie. It was as close to a safe place as Joyce would ever find outside of her home.

Most days, Joyce dressed for comfort. Roomy jeans, t-shirts or flowy blouses, and comfortable knock-off Keds. Neutral and earth tones, because she still had not gotten out of the habit of picking colors that wouldn’t be stained by tiny sticky hands and projectile food, even though both her boys were practically grown. Lonnie had called her a frump on several occasions, and in his more drunken moments, an offensive word that rhymed with “bike”.

 _That_ night, she dusted off an old navy blue mini-skirt she still had from high school. One that had been shoved to the back of her closet in disgust, several weeks after Jonathan had been born and Lonnie had wanted to treat her to a romantic night out. Back then, her post-baby body decided it did not want to be seen in that skirt. _That_ night, after holding it up to her waist in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, Joyce was struck with mischievous nostalgia. She washed the skirt and tried it on. She laughed out loud, a spontaneous squeal of incredulous relief. It fit. It didn’t matter that it was January, and freezing. It fit and she was going to wear it.

Joyce paired it with beige nylons, a pair of cheap-but-nice-looking, brown calf-high boots, and a scoop-neck, dove-grey sweater. She brushed her hair until it shone, and pulled it back with a tortoise shell butterfly clip, threw on mascara, painted her lips with Revlon Cherries in the Snow (her one indulgence from the pharmacy), and headed out the door. It was cold, cold, cold out, but she didn’t care. She suspected that people were going to stare and think she was ridiculous, and she cared a little about that, but not enough to return to the safety of her home. She had gone through hell the previous year, and she was going to have a little bit of fun.

The Saturday crowd had already settled in by the time Joyce walked through the door at Hammond’s place. The air was thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and spilled whisky, and all of the seats at the bar were filled. Joyce spotted a small table in a corner across the room, next to the dart board. She suspected it was empty because of the haphazard game of Cricket occurring (a very drunk bachelor party comprised of six unskilled marksmen were taking turns hitting everything but the board) but decided to risk it. She set her purse down on the table, took out her wallet, and headed for the main bar.

Peter Hammond, a sandy-haired man with large, wide-set brown eyes and a frame not much taller or wider than Joyce’s, smiled at her from behind the bar. He was the diametric opposite of his deceased older brother, and Joyce used to tease the two of them in high school, referring to them as Lenny and George. Since Joyce tutored the both of them in English Lit, they had both understood and resented the comparison.

“Well, well,” he murmured, almost shyly. Joyce often wondered why such a mild, timid person decided to own a bar.

“Hey, Peter.”

“Hey. What can I get for you, Joyce Mae?” Peter inquired teasingly. Joyce hadn’t been referred to as ‘Joyce Mae’ since she was a teenager. It had stuck for years, Hawkins Elementary through Hawkins High. The origin of the name started when Joyce’s had burst into her first grade classroom one day, shouting the moniker because Joyce had been caught lifting her dress to show off her new, ruffled underwear to a young Jim Hopper and Benny Hammond. The teacher, Miss Bray, had caught them, but instead of humiliating Joyce by berating her in front of the class and sending her to the principal’s office, she had decided to call Joyce’s parents directly and discuss it as a concern. Since Miss Bray was new, she was not aware of Joyce’s mother’s nature. Instead of getting privately chastised at home, Joyce was screamed at in full view of her classmates. Rather than feel sympathy for a fellow student, the class zeroed in on the absurdity of the situation, and ‘Joyce Mae’ she remained until she became ‘Joyce Byers’ and later, ‘Lonnie’s Ex’.

Joyce ordered a gin and tonic, and returned to her corner, feeling the eyes of just about every patron burning against her skin. It did not matter. She was going to enjoy her drink and possibly have another. It was a public place, and she had every right to be there, sipping on a drink that tasted like a Christmas tree. She did not really care for gin, but she always panicked when bartender’s asked her for her order, and it was usually the only thing she could think of.

Either the bachelors’ aim got better, or more care was put into the game once Joyce appeared at the table, but she did not have to dodge errant darts as she had feared. Around the time she was halfway through with her first drink, one of the men from the party approached her. He was young. Very young. Joyce thought he maybe had about three years on Jonathan, who was a junior in High School. He smiled a cocky half smile, and ran a hand through a riotous mass of auburn curls, and narrowed his puppy brown eyes in a way Joyce suspected he thought was sultry. She thought he looked adorable in his green sweater and clean brown slacks. Adorable and so, so, _so_ young.

“Can I help you?” She had inquired, trying very hard not to giggle at the absurdity of the situation she assumed she was in.

“I was telling my friend that there weren’t any beautiful girls in this town, and I wanted to come over and formally apologize.”

“I didn’t hear you say it, so I can’t imagine why you would be apologizing to me.”

The boy blushed and his half smile turned into an eager grin that crinkled the sides of his eyes. “No, but you are the most beautiful girl I’ve seen all night, and I wanted to be the first one to tell you.”

Joyce groaned inwardly. First off, she did not much care for the fact that he kept referring to her as a girl, secondly, she would never understand what possessed certain men to assume out loud that they were the first and only ones to ever think certain women were pretty. Joyce had had no shortage of reassurances on that account back in her younger days, and she had a mirror that told her she was still very nice looking, albeit a bit more dressed down.

“Oh my gosh, thank you.” Joyce stood up, smoothed her skirt, and smiled up at the boy with an exaggeratedly demure expression. “You truly are the first to ever tell me that I’m beautiful, in all my centuries on this earth. At midnight, I will return to my coffin, close my eyes forever and my soul can finally be at peace.”

The boy had no response. All he could manage to do was nervously cough, and walk away. Joyce sat down, stifling a laugh into her hand. It was good to know that her old go-to tactic to repel creeps still worked like a charm.

A voice – low, soft and teasing- spoke from behind her back, close to her ear, sending shivers down her neck:

“That was cruel.” She nearly jumped out of her chair in surprise. She turned the stool around to face the interloper and found herself nearly nose to nose with Jim Hopper, who had been stooping to whisper.

“Hop.” She was struck by how handsome he was that night. His beard had been trimmed close to his rugged jawline, his jeans fit snugly against his long muscular legs, and his dark blue flannel shirt was tucked in, revealing a waistline that was a little softer than it was when they were young, but noticeably trimmer than it had been a few months prior. He smelled like Irish soap and aftershave, and his nearness made the gin-induced warmth within her boil over into something a bit more impassioned. She hoped the room was dark enough to obscure her flushed cheeks.

Joyce squirmed under the scrutiny of Jim’s searching eyes as they swept over her, her scalp tingling pleasantly at the flash on intensity they held. A lopsided grin came upon his face, and he chuckled softly.

“I think I remember that skirt.”

“You should, it ended up on the backseat of your car often enough.” Flirting. She was flirting with him. The realization almost made her gasp, and when he had no immediate response, she wanted the floor to open up and engulf her. His sudden and boisterous burst of laughter eased her nerves, somewhat, and she did not protest when he grabbed his tumbler of whisky and sat at the other stool at her table.

Things progressed from that point. Apparently, Hopper’s date had gone poorly that night, and the unnamed woman had left him at the bar about ten minutes before Joyce had shown up. He had noticed Joyce the moment she walked in, but it had taken him a while to decide whether or not to bother her, thinking that maybe she was waiting for a date herself. He had been heading her way to scare off the young man from the bachelor party (“The actual groom”, he explained), but had taken a step back when he realized she had a handle on the situation.

They had a few more drinks, and had a few cigarettes, falling into an easy conversation that wasn’t fraught with urgency and filled with whispered conspiracies or high-risk plans. It was… nice.

They had known each other since they were children, had been best friends, lovers, and then enemies, before he fled for the city. After that they had near strangers, nodding awkwardly at each other during holidays when Jim’s mother and his wife dragged him out to do grocery shopping for the Hopper family meals. His mother enhanced that awkwardness by chatting amiably with Joyce. Mrs. Hopper had been Joyce’s mother’s best friend – had stepped up to the plate to help out Joyce’s father when Joyce was in the sixth grade and her mother had dropped dead of an aneurysm. Their families were intrinsically linked with one another by virtue of their (now dead) mothers. A natural conversational groove was not hard to hit between the two of them.

Eventually, the clock hit two and they were both insisting that the other was far too drunk to drive home, or drive the other home. The compromise was to sit in Hopper’s jeep with the heat and the radio on, continuing their conversation from the bar. Joyce had not laughed so much in a long time. It may have been the gin, but she had forgotten how funny Jim was. When she was straddling his lap, generating a delicious, sticky friction between her thighs as she rubbed against his blue jeans, and nibbled, sucked, and licked at his mouth, delicious memories of his other good attributes came flooding back.

They had not gone any further than one hand up her sweater, bra discarded, and the other up her skirt, strong fingers teasing and pumping until she collapsed, feeling exhausted and satiated against his chest. Joyce allowed her breathing to calm and the tiny tremors throughout her body to subside before scooting back into the passenger’s seat to pull her panties and nylons back up from the middle of her calves.

Joyce had the feeling that they were both sobering up, and both were in silent agreement that trysting in a jeep was probably not a good look for the Hawkins Chief of Police and Hawkins’ resident single mother. After they both had time to straighten up their clothes, Jim drove her back to her car.

He helped her out of his jeep and walked the three feet with her to her own vehicle. They had not spoken a word to each other since before she had pounced on him, earlier.

“I’m just going to make sure your car starts. It’s been a pretty cold night,” he announced, shivering in the early dawn air. Joyce smiled gratefully, and contemplated how nice the morning appeared, with its orange and yellow glow. She had not been up to see the sun rise in years, and the last time she had done, it had been with him. Prom night, if she recalled correctly.

“Okay, Hop.”

The car started, and she was about to pull away, when a tap on her window startled her. She looked over her shoulder, and rolled the window down:

“Yes, officer?” She inquired with a smirk. Jim’s face was all seriousness.

“Call me when you get home so I know you got back safe, Joyce.”

The sincerity in his voice stunned her slightly. Usually she was the one using that line, but on her sons. No one had ever given her an order like that since her she had been young enough to still live at her father’s house. Back then, it had been the frazzled-but-taciturn man’s way of telling her he loved her, since the actual words seemed to turn to ashes in his mouth after her mother’s death.

“I-I will, Jim.”

She had done as he asked, wondering if they were going to discuss what had happened as she dialed his number. They did not. He answered the phone, his voice thick and heavy with exhaustion. She informed him of her safety, he told her that was just fine, and they both hung up. Their paths had not crossed since.

* * *

 

_…The winner of our essay contest is actually the child of someone I once babysat. I know that does not narrow the list down very much, dear listeners, but all will be revealed momentarily..._

“You look nice today, Joyce.” Joyce felt heat climb up her neck to her cheeks at Jim’s compliment.

“Thank you, Hopper. Your total comes to $10.87.” Money exchanged hands, and Joyce nearly dropped it to the floor when Jim’s forefinger lingered at the curve of her thumb, a move that made her gasp audibly. There was no mistaking the gesture – it was a caress. A public display, albeit a blink-and-you-miss-it public display. She recovered quickly, and handed him his change.

“I was wondering if maybe you would like to come over this weekend and watch –“

Jim was interrupted by Donald, who rushed up to Joyce, shook her hand and patted her on the back. “Congratulations, Joyce!”

Joyce looked around, and was bewildered to find that the patrons of the store had started to gather around, wishing her well and clapping.

“W-what?” She looked to Jim, who shrugged and mouthed “I will call you” before taking his purchases and walking out of the store.

“The radio contest, Joyce. Your boy, Will, apparently sent in an essay about you, and you won!”

_Joyce Byers, be sure to stop by the station before the third of February to claim your prize of an all-expense paid trip to Indianapolis for a weekend stay of self-care and luxury at the Indianapolis Hilton, and a voucher for $500, good for most boutiques in Indy’s famous downtown shopping district. Up next is a half hour block of contemporary easy listening. As always, I’m your host, Evangeline Marks…_

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Joyce swore under her breath.

The rest of her shift went by in a blur. Her line consistently received the most patrons, as people trickled in and out to congratulate her. It took everything she had to bite her tongue, considering she knew most of her well-wishers looked down on her for being a single parent, and had whispered amongst each other over how “crazy” she was when Will had gone missing. She could not wait to go home and question his life decisions…


	2. You Better Listen to the Radio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce goes swimming. Jim puts his foot down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Part Two of my little tale. I apologize for the mistakes, I am flying without a beta for this one. Here be fluff, and smut.
> 
> Be sure to follow me on tumblr, I'm StarMaamMke on their as well. You could also submit or read more fics at my Stranger Things tumblr, StrangerThingsFics.
> 
> Comments, critiques and kudos MORE than welcome!

 

** Joyce **

Joyce pulled into her driveway with too much haste. It was icy, and the car made a serpentine path until it crashed bumper first – and none too gently – into a snowbank adjacent to the front porch. Joyce sat in stunned silence for a few moments, shaken but no worse for wear, and then began listing every swear word she knew. Her loud, spirited recitation was cut short by both of her sons, plus Lucas Sinclair, rushing outside to her aid.

“Jesus Christ, Mom!” Jonathan exclaimed, opening the driver side door.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Byers?” Lucas asked, as Will pushed forward to help her out of the car.

Joyce allowed her youngest to take her by the hand and guide her. She nodded, trying to mentally shake off her dazed expression. “Is the car okay?” She inquired.

Jonathan nodded, and took her other hand, leading her towards the house. “You barely dinged it.” The four of them entered the house, and Joyce took off her winter outerwear, setting her coat, hat and scarf on an armchair near the door. She took a seat on the couch, and glared up at the boys.

“Would someone care to explain why I’m apparently a winner of a radio contest?”

The three boys exchanged excited glances before Lucas spoke:

“It was my idea. My mom is always listening to that crap station, and –“

“Lucas!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Byers. My mom is always listening to that station at home, and when I heard about the contest, I told Will about it –“

“… and Jonathan helped me write the essay –“

“… because we all thought you’d be a shoe-in, Mrs. Byers –“

“… Will actually wrote most of it, I only proof-read and let him know what might be revealing too much, because of what Hopper and the Department of – “

Joyce raised a silencing hand towards the excited trio. “But, why?” Her question had a slightly shrill edge to it.

“Uh, because you are Hawkins’ best mom? I mean, you’re a bad-ass – I mean, you’re a warrior… like Ripley or Red Sonja. You basically walked into the Upside Down like you owned the place and took Will back with you. Even if the general public can’t know that, everyone knows Will was the kid who went missing, died, and then came back to life. You would have won the contest if all Will wrote was ‘Because she is’ and submitted it.”

Joyce sighed, and massaged her temple, eyes closed. “It’s too extravagant,” she sighed. “We could use $500 to fix up the house, or to pad Jonathan and Will’s college fund –“

“They won’t let you just convert the prize to cash. It’s not ‘The Price is Right’,” Lucas explained impatiently. Joyce glared at her son’s friend.

“Lucas, it’s nearly past 10. Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“Mom, you said that Lucas could spend the night. It’s the weekend.” Will retorted. Joyce groaned. She _had_ given permission.

“Besides, Mom, when was the last time you had a vacation?” Jonathan asked, knowing full well that it had been her honeymoon at House on the Rock in Wisconsin. What he didn’t know was that Lonnie had been drunk the entire time, and Joyce had spent the entirety of the vacation sight-seeing by herself, combating morning sickness, and just generally wallowing in misery – the correct answer was that she had never been on a vacation, in the relaxing sense.

“I don’t think that I can take off work for something like that,” Joyce argued. Will and Lucas groaned, and walked out of the living room. Jonathan sat next to his mother, and took her right hand into his, squeezing it, a pleading look in his soulful eyes.

“We will be okay for two days, Mom. I’ve been working a little extra since Will sent in the essay, knowing you would – “

“Jonathan, you know how I feel about you working so much!”

“Probably the same way I feel about you working yourself to death without any help from Lonnie.”

Joyce stood up, glaring daggers at her oldest son, her arms rigid at her sides. “That is my business! You don’t need to worry about that because _you_ are the kid and _I_ am the mom!” It was Jonathan’s turn to stand up and look angry.

“Well, too bad; it’s done! You are going to drive over to that station on Monday and claim your prize if I have to tie you to the top of the car and take you there myself!”

Joyce gasped at Jonathan’s fierce reply, lifting a hand to cover her mouth in shock, her eyes wide. He immediately appeared remorseful and opened his mouth to apologize profusely at upsetting her, but she cut him off with a quick burst of laughter.

“You boys…” She could not finish the sentence, because her throat started to feel constricted, and tears welled up and scorched her eyes. Jonathan pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank you, so much,” she sobbed into his shoulder. She heard Will’s footsteps as he entered the room, and then the pressure of his arms as he wrapped them around her. She had done a damned good job raising them, and she did not care what anyone else thought.

In the excitement, she forgot to ask if anyone had called her while she was away, and after a busy weekend at the grocery store, she began to make preparations for her very first, honest-to-goodness, vacation.

** Jim **

            Jim Hopper begrudgingly allowed to valet to take the keys to his jeep when he stepped outside of the Indianapolis Hilton. It was the second Friday of February, and the windy air bit at his fingertips as he pulled his luggage out of the vehicle.

In his other hand was an envelope bearing an invitation to his former Chief of Police’s retirement party. They had lost touch when he moved from Indianapolis back to Hawkins, but the older man’s wife, a masterclass in Southern Hospitality, had not forgotten him, and had made sure that he was invited to the affair. The invitation had arrived the Saturday before Super Bowl Sunday, and made him momentarily forget the situation with Joyce.

He thought of her, when he sent out the RSVP the following Monday, thinking about how nice it would be if he asked her to join him – but his phone call over the weekend had gone unanswered, even though Jonathan promised he would tell his mother about it. Logically, he thought it possible that the boy had just forgotten, but the treacherous part of Jim, unwilling to accept that Joyce had any interest in him further than a quick, drunken grope, thought that maybe she simply did not want to talk to him. A weekend away together was a bit of a hasty jump anyway, he reasoned.

Jim had heard through the grapevine that Joyce had won some sort of contest. He was not sure what that entailed, but he was pretty sure that it was well deserved. It killed him to see how beaten down by life his former sweetheart had become, although he was pleased to see a bit of the old Joyce emerge that night at Hammond’s Place. Her vitality, her humor, and – on a shallow note – her exceptional beauty had not been extinguished entirely by Hurricane Lonnie, and to see it burning at such a brilliant intensity again, had touched him – stirred something inside of him that he had been certain was long dormant. It did not matter that she was no longer interested in sharing that light with him, it was a privilege to see it shining.

Jim checked in to his suite, and whistled low when he took in the opulence of it. It had two rooms, including a kitchenette, and was beautifully appointed in soft, pastel tones. Not his preference of decorating scheme, but the bed was large and soft, and he did not have to pay for it. Thank God for old money, and the occasional unthinking generosity of those in possession. He threw his luggage to the ground, and fell backwards onto the king sized bed with a contented sigh. It was a shame to waste a bed that size on one person, but he reasoned that he could get lucky at the party on Saturday. A long shot, considering most of the women would probably be wives or girlfriends of men on the force.

After a quick nap, he decided to check out the pool. He carried his trunks down to the swimming area, fully dressed, not wanting to parade around the hotel in a robe and slippers like a bougie idiot.

The pool was large, and situated in a well light area, empty but for a slender, russet haired woman who sat in the hot tub, with her back turned to him. Not wanting to disturb her, he walked quietly to the changing room, showered, donned his trunks, emerged and entered the pool without so much as a cannonball to announce his presence. Jim swam several laps in earnest, until he found that he was too out of shape to do anything besides a gentle tread. When he stood up in the pool, water at the level of his waist, he realized that Joyce Byers had been the woman in the hot tub, and she was sitting at the edge of the pool, legs crossed at the knees dangling one foot in the water, and smiling expectantly at him. She was wearing a black one piece, cut in a V low enough to reveal the creamy expanse of skin between her breasts, and her hair was pulled back away from her face, save for a few wet tendrils that clung to her cheeks and neck. He self-consciously sank down a bit, unable to control the instantaneous reaction to her half-dressed presence.

“James Hopper, what on earth are you doing here?”

He cleared his throat, willing the deep crimson blush to disappear from his cheeks and neck. “R-retirement party.”

“Yours?” She inquired, cheekily. He smiled, wanting very badly to pull her into the pool with him, wanting very, _very_ badly to-

“Ha. No, my old boss from the city. What are you doing here?”

Joyce shrugged and scooted into the pool, the water level at an inch below her breasts. She was so small and fierce, he thought, still trying to exorcize the myriad of filthy, filthy scenarios racing through his brain. He had wanted her to be here, and she was here, in glorious, soaked flesh. The possibilities were staggering. Goddamn, goddamn; did she have any idea what she was doing, swimming those slow, lazy circles around him? 

“You didn’t hear about what Will and Jonathan did? They wrote about me to 95.5 and managed to win me a vacation.”

“You know I don’t listen to that shit. Evangeline Marks is an insufferable kook.”

Joyce laughed, and laid back so that she could float in the water. “It was sweet, all the same.”

“Well, congratulations. Rest and relaxation suits you.” He admired the elegant length of her form, and wondered how someone so small could have legs so long. He wanted to push her over to the wall and fuck her against it, so he could feel those beautiful ivory legs wrap around his waist like a vice. The realization did nothing for the uncomfortable throbbing in his loins, and he wished the pool was ten degrees cooler.

“Thanks, Hop.” She stood up in the pool again. “Wanna race?” She was grinning, and he wanted to cover that grin with his mouth.

“Not as young and as spry as I used to be, darlin’. What’s your evening look like?”

Joyce tilted her head to one side, and she eyed him suspiciously. “What did you have in mind?”

“Drinks and dinner at the hotel restaurant. I’m sure it’s pricy as all get out, but you’re here and I’m here, and indulgence seems to be the name of the game this weekend.”

           Joyce nodded. “Sure, Hop. It’s a date. Meet me in the lobby in an hour?”

            “Yeah, that sounds fine.”

            Joyce swam over to a nearby ladder. Jim had an excellent view of her round bottom and muscular legs as she climbed out of the pool. Her suit, in its drenched state, fit her like a sleek, ebony skin. She turned around. “Aren’t you coming?”

            He flushed again at her phrasing and shook his head. “No… I-I’m just going to take a few more laps if it’s all the same to you.” She shrugged and walked out of the room. He gave it a few minutes before getting out of the pool and rushing to the changing area before anyone could take note of his obviously aroused state. The cold shower remedied the situation, and he contemplated the fact that he and Joyce were going on a date for the first time in nearly twenty years.

** Joyce **

Joyce stood in the lobby of the hotel, wearing the only little black dress she had in her possession. It seemed a little ghoulish, going on a date in a dress she had worn to her son’s funeral, but she had not yet taken the time to treat herself to the shopping spree she had won in the contest. She marveled at her own hindsight in packing it… it was not as if she had anticipated having drinks with a man on her vacation. She styled her hair in the same manner that she had that night at Hammond’s place, and the only jewelry she wore was a pair of simulated pearl earrings and a costume tennis bracelet the boys had given her the previous Christmas. The black pumps she wore pinched slightly, but the height difference between her and Hop was considerable and intimidating – having a few extra inches made her feel a little more confident.

“A few extra inches,” she muttered with a quiet snicker. Raising boys had cheapened her sense of humor.

“Hey you,” came a low voice from behind her. Joyce turned and smiled beatifically at Jim. He was wearing charcoal grey trousers and a hunter green, V-neck sweater. Joyce tried not to appear too enraptured by his clean, manly scent, his clear blue eyes, or his towering, imposing form. He offered her his arm, and she took it, reveling in the solid muscle of his forearm and the comfortable warmth he radiated.

Joyce’s lust-filled musings embarrassed her. What if his offer of dinner and drinks was just a simple gesture of friendship? What if he wanted to forget what had happened in his jeep? Self-doubt nagged her and dragged her spirits down further and further, even as he guided her to her seat at the restaurant, big hand resting gently on the small of her back. The table was small, round, covered in white linen, and adjacent to a large window with a view of the bustling city outside.

“Where are the prices?” Joyce inquired in a puzzled tone, as she perused the black leather bound menu.

“Over here, on my menu,” Jim replied, eyebrows raised at the selection.

“Oh, brother, how typical.”

Jim shrugged. “I’m paying anyway, sweetheart.”

Joyce rolled her eyes, although the endearment touched something deep inside of her. The traitor in her brain reminded her that Jim had always been a bit of a Johnny Cash listening, Good Ole Boy, and he probably used that moniker towards every female from his late mother to the town librarian.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I really want to. Radio Hawkins’ Best Mom shouldn’t have to pay for a damn thing, especially not on my watch.”

Joyce sighed. “I’m not a kept woman. You don’t own me, Hop.”

“Of course not, Lesley Gore. It’s just dinner, though. Indulge an old romantic, please.” She smiled, remembering the weeks she spent howling _that_ song at the top of her lungs in his car. Joyce knew she had a horrific singing voice, but Jim never let on that he agreed.

“Oh, alright.”

Joyce and Jim both ordered steak, Jim, the ribeye, and Joyce, the filet mignon. She had never had it before, and she was not disappointed. Keeping with the theme of new things, she ordered a martini, cringing a bit at the gin, and remembering that she did not care much for olives either. The glass was pretty, although she spent the whole time feeling nervous that she was going to spill the drink all over her dress.

They seemed to talk about everything _but_ the events of a few weeks back. Joyce let the alcohol warm her as she listened to Jim’s stories of life on the force in Indianapolis. If it hadn’t been for their adventure in The Upside Down, she would have thought that he had abandoned a life of excitement for something sleepy and mundane. She knew why he left, but they did not talk about _that_ either.

Joyce found herself at a loss for anything meaningful to share in their conversation. She talked about the boys, and how they were doing in school. She mentioned Will’s cough, which concerned her greatly, especially considering how secretive he was about it – brushing it off as though it was nothing, even though she could hear him practically hacking up a lung throughout most nights. She talked about her job, which she hated, and Jonathan getting closer to graduation, which she dreaded.

“You could always go back to school, Joyce.” Joyce looked up from her cocktail and graced him with a bitter half-smile.

“Come on, Hop. I’m too old and too stupid.” His face took on a stormy expression.

“That’s Lonnie talking, isn’t it?”

“He wasn’t wrong.”

Jim reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. His grip was firm, but not painful. He leaned over, eyes burning into hers:

“Yes he fucking was, Joyce Mae. You are still the brilliant girl that used to write papers for me in high school. If you don’t want to go back to school for something, anything, then don’t… but please don’t pretend to be anything less than the best woman I have ever known. It’s insulting to my intelligence, and worse than that, it’s an insult to yours.”

Joyce felt her body go up in flames at Jim’s passionate defense. She pulled her hand out of his grip and rested it on top of his forearm, caressing it. Somehow, despite her pounding heart and her sudden lack of oxygen, she found her voice:

“Settle the check, Hop.”

The minutes it took to pay the bill and walk to the elevator went by in a blur, until Jim brought everything back into focus by gently pushing her against the wall of the elevator, bent low to allow her to wrap her arms about his neck, and lifted her slightly so that he could comfortably bring his lips crashing down on her own. His mouth was all consuming, a vortex of want and ferocity. He cupped her delicate chin and delved further, licking and sucking at her bottom lip as his other hand groped at her ass.

The soft ‘ding’ of the elevator was their cue to part, and he set her down, gasping and panting to find breath.

“I would very much like to fuck you tonight,” he growled, taking her hand and leading her to his room.

“Yes,” she breathlessly consented as he fumbled with the room key.

Dinner finery was quickly discarded, and Joyce shoved Jim backwards onto the bed, empowered by the newfound confidence she discovered within herself. She straddled him, and he sat up, pulling them to safety in the middle of the bed, and recapturing her mouth. He moaned low and shaky, as she ground her cotton clad hips against his, feeling his immense erection push at her core through their respective barriers.

“Goddamn, Joyce. Goddamn.” Quick and able hands removed her bra, and threw it across the room. Joyce gasped when his strong lips closed on one of her aching nipples, licking and nibbling with a greedy mouth as she continued to rock against him in a rhythm that sent delicious electricity up her spine and back down to her soaked core.

“Lie back,” she instructed, finding her voice. He brought his mouth to hers for one more punishing, bruising kiss before complying.

Joyce moved off of him, kneeling on the bed at his side. The sight of him, bare chested, eyes burning, and boxers tented – all for her – gave way to a heady sensation, like she was floating on a warm cloud of sex and possibility. She bent low to brush her lips against his, and then against his strong jaw, stopping to bite and suck at the side of his neck. Her lips travelled down, making a path over his chest, his stomach, stopping at the band of his boxers.

Her eyes met his, and she tried to signal her intent with a small smile. Jim pushed the offending article of clothing down his hips, and kicked it off of the bed. His cock stood up, red, angry, and heavily veined. She trailed an experimental forefinger up the considerable length of it, nail scraping gently at the silken underside.

“Oh, you are killing me, sweetheart,” he groaned. She chuckled, and wrapped her hand around his cock, reveling at the soft steel girth. Hoping she had not gotten rusty in her years of loneliness, she bent low and licked at the tip before closing her mouth around it, tasting, teasing, and taking in as much as her limits would allow. His hand rested on the back of her neck, stroking and then grasping at it when she found her rhythm. After a few minutes of his, he brought a hand to her shoulder, halting her movements.

“Joyce, stop or this night is going to end real soon. I need to be inside you… please.” She moved up to lay beside him, snuggling against his side, and pressing more kisses against his neck.

“How do you want me?” She asked, nipping at his earlobe. His response was to roll over to one side, pull her panties off of her body, aimlessly throwing them in the direction of his boxers, take hold her hips, and pull over on top of him. She rested her knees on either side of him, lifted her hips, and lowered them, taking his hardness inside of her in a torturously slow motion. Joyce gasped at the intrusion, he was almost uncomfortably large inside of her, and it had been a long, _long_ time since she had been with a man. She froze on top of him, unsure of her next move.

“Keep going, darlin’,” he urged, bringing his hands up to rest at her hips. She began to move, a slow back-and-forth that started out self-consciously with awkward starts and stops. “Relax,” he whispered, guiding her motions with gentle hands. She began to move with confidence, lifting up and sliding down, rotating her hips and shortly after, Joyce was not paying attention to what she was doing at all. She was climbing up and up, vaguely aware of the fact that their movements were becoming more rapid, more erratic. She arched her back and lost herself in her first non-solo orgasm in over a decade. Jim maneuvered the both of them so that she was on her back, her legs wrapped around his waist, him pounding against her with a fierceness that hurt exquisitely. 

“Jim,” she moaned helplessly. Her hands moved over his back, stroking and then digging her nails into his flesh when she felt the pressure welling up inside of her once again. He muttered sentimental nonsense laced with profanity against her ear.

“Goddamn. Jesus fucking Christ, you are so beautiful, Joyce…” His thrusts lost all sense of rhythm when she cried out, staggered by the sheer power of her second and final orgasm of the night. He followed her shortly after, pulling out and spending himself of her breasts and stomach, apologizing as he did so.

They lay side by side when it was all over, holding hands as they tried to catch their breath. Joyce’s body felt boneless and wondrously relaxed, despite the sticky, tepid mess that rested upon it.

“I am so sorry, Joyce.”

“I’m easier to clean than the sheets.”

“We really should have been more prepared.”

“Yes.”

Joyce sat up and moved off of the bed, standing on unsteady legs. Jim rose up on his elbows. “Where are you – “

“I have to go wash up, Jim… do you want me to stay here tonight?”

“Yes.”

Joyce walked into the bathroom, marveling at how large it was. Her own room was pretty standard. She turned the hot water tap on the shower and stepped in, washing away the evidence of the night’s activities, she gave a start when Jim stepped in behind her.

“Is this okay?” He asked. She turned to him and nodded. He washed her back, and she allowed him to massage the complimentary shampoo and conditioner into her scalp, nearly falling asleep on her feet at the relaxing motion. This was a first for her, sharing a shower with another person and letting them in on the intimacy of her routine. After they showered, Jim offered her one of his t-shirts to sleep in, and they fell asleep with him spooning her. She was never much of a fan of cuddling – Lonnie was bony and uncomfortable, like falling asleep on a bag of remotes – but Jim was large, soft and warm, and it did not take long for sleep to find her.

Joyce woke around 7 AM, nestled against Jim’s side, her cheek pressed against his strong chest. It was not a position she had ever expected to be in again after their break up in high school, but she was not complaining. She propped herself up on one elbow, and observed his sleeping features, astounded at how peaceful he appeared in slumber. The set of his mouth, usually pressed in a hard line, was relaxed and opened slightly as he snored away. His face contained hardly any troubled lines, though she spotted a faint crevice between his eyebrows, etched from years of frowning and worrying.

His eyes opened suddenly, and he turned to face her, smiling sleepily. “Quit staring, you creep,” he teased. She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, cringing afterwards.

“Go brush your teeth,” she ordered.

“You first.”

She snuggled close to him, unwilling to leave the warm cocoon of the luxurious bed. “Hmm, not just yet.”

He kissed the top of her head. “What are your plans for today?”

“Apparently I have $500 to blow in the shopping district. I think I’m going to just get presents for the boys, though.” She looked up in time to see him shake his head in the negative.

“I have a better idea. I have to go to this retirement party thing tonight… why don’t you treat yourself to a brand new party dress and go with me?”

Joyce laughed. “Are you sure? You may miss out on taking a gorgeous city girl back to your room if we do that.” She felt his muscles stiffen, she looked up and saw his face was a stony mask.

“I’m not asking a random stranger. I’m asking you. I want you to be my date, and I want to introduce you as somebody that I’m proud to know and…” he trailed off.

“And what?” She pressed.

He moved down the bed slightly, so that their eyes were meeting without Joyce having to strain her neck. He cupped the side of her face with one hand and spoke:

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want last night to be a one-time thing. I want to take you out, I want to come over to your house and have you come over to mine – I want you. Just you, for as long as we can manage this without fucking it up again… okay?”

She braved morning breath to respond with a slow and sweet kiss. Later that morning – _much_ later – the two of them had breakfast downtown, and walked side-by-side through the shopping district. He talked her into a dress that was far too expensive, and they attended the retirement party together, his former boss’s wife resigned to the fact that he had not declared a plus one.They even danced when Joyce was pleasantly surprised by the music selection, making Jim laugh as she attempted Tom Waits’ rusty growl during “Fumblin’ With the Blues” … she had had a little too much to drink by that point in the night.

They made love again that night, slower; confident in the fact that they had all the time in the world. The next morning, they checked out of the hotel together, and parted ways in their separate cars, but not before Joyce assured Jim that she would be scolding the boys on not writing down phone messages.

All in all, it had been an okay vacation.


	3. Missing Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a tumblr prompt from @obeydontstray
> 
> Jim and Joyce go shopping in Indianapolis. Takes place the morning after they consummate their relationship.

_I could get used to this_ , Jim Hopper mused as he paid for two coffees, two sandwiches, and headed back to the boutique where Joyce was shopping for an evening gown. He had woken up next to her earlier that morning, something he had not done since he had been married. All the women he had ‘relations’ with in Hawkins had naturally understood that overnights were simply not done.

But he woke up next to her, holding on tight. She had asked him if he wanted her to stay, he had said yes. Monumental. What was more, they now appeared to be dipping their toes into something more permanent. At least, that was his interpretation of her enthusiastic response to his request to see more of her; the breathless way she kissed him, clung to him, smiled against his mouth - the shining look in her beautiful brown eyes.

He found himself meditating on the sweeter aspects of the night before as he stepped back into the boutique. The lady at the register gave him a beatific smile and he wondered why until he realized that his cheek muscles were sore from being pulled in a happy expression of his own. He looked around and could not see Joyce anywhere in the shop.

The lady must have noticed his quizzical expression and waved him towards the back of store in the direction of a curtained door that stood next to several strategically placed floor-length mirrors.  “She’s in the fitting room. I think she may have found the one, though she keeps fussing about the price.

Yes, that sounded like Joyce alright.

Jim headed towards the fitting room, and set the coffee carrier and bag of sandwiches on a bench with an ornately embroidered cushion before taking a seat. The bench faced the door of the fitting room  and he leaned forward in anticipation, recognizing Joyce’s white Keds peaking out from beneath the curtain. He rested his elbows against his knees and whistled low. “Let’s see it, Joycie.”

“No. I’m putting it back.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not practical. I’m only wearing it for that silly retirement party you’re dragging me to.” She sounded irritated.

“Prize money means you get to buy yourself things that aren’t practical. Do you like it?”

A long pause. “I love it.” Her mournful voice had a wounded edge.

Jim sighed heavily. “Can I see?”

Joyce pulled back the curtain and stepped out before giving a slow, unsteady turn. Jim felt his chest and throat constrict as the air in the room fled with his rational thought.

The dress was a royal blue satin confection; boat-neck with capped sleeves. It clung to her like a second skin until flaring out slightly mid-thigh in an asymmetrical hem that fell mid-calf from behind, and just below her knees in the front. The back of the dress was the thing that made his heart stop, because there really wasn’t one. Her slender, pale flesh was exposed down to about a half-inch above the small of her back, and a sliver of a silver chain near the base of her neck appeared to be the only thing keeping the flimsy gown from slipping clear from her shoulders.

Even without a stitch of makeup on her clear, bare face, even without an artful coif or high heels, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He needed to come up with some way to express himself. Someway to tell her that she was exquisite, divine, a goddess…

“What the hell are you wearing?” he sputtered.

She nearly tripped as she backed into the dressing room and pulled the curtain back into place without a word. Feeling monumentally stupid, he leapt to his feet and waved his hands in front of him. “No, no no… Joyce? Joyce, wait!”

Her eyes were burning when she opened the curtain again, her face and neck flush with crimson. The set of her jaw and the thin press of her lips told him that he had said the worst thing. “Yes?”

“That’s not what I-… you look so fucking - er, damned - shit! - you look so beautiful. Get the dress. Please, please, please get the dress.”

“It’s too expensive anyway,” she murmured, fixing her eyes to the floor.

He stepped forward, cupped her delicate, burning face and brought his lips down on her with aching tenderness. He pulled away and kissed her forehead. Her eyes were soft, but confused. “I’m an idiot and I’m out of practice. If you don’t use your winnings to buy this dress, I’m going to buy it for you, plus three more.”

She wrinkled her nose and gasped as though he insulted her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“And shoes. Really impractical ones.”

She scoffed and pushed at his chest. “Fine, I’ll buy the dress.”


End file.
